The Secret Diary of a Bad Girl
by brucas025
Summary: I'm every man's fantasy clad in the raciest lingerie. I'm NYC's favorite call-girl, the top requested of Rosie's girls. This is my story, through my eyes, rather than those of a jealous wife, heartbroken fiance, or my absent mother. You know you want me.
1. Lust

"It's the good girls who keep the diaries; the bad girls never have the time

"**It's the good girls who keep the diaries; the bad girls never have the time."**

They say that bad girls never have time to keep diaries, but I'm gonna prove them all wrong. I'm gonna capture my life through _my_ eyes rather than the eyes of a man, or of my mother, or of a jealous wife after her husband's left her because I've shown him what it's like to feel the real, unbridled lust that she could never give him.

I've never considered myself a "bad girl," but it's what others have classified me as. The type of girl who'll corrupt your son with sex, alcohol and late-night rendezvous; the type who had her first martini at fourteen; the type who left home the second it was legal to; the type who fucks the entire town, sons and husbands, fiancés and bachelors.

I've never considered myself a bad girl, but I fit the description soundly.

Maybe that's why I was the most popular girl in Rosie's Little Black Book, why I was always requested for group parties and private affairs, why men recommended me to their friends, each one taking me for a test drive before making it weekly. I was an escape for celebrities in toxic good-publicity relationships, desperados who couldn't voice their true fantasies to lovers, and the average man who was a bachelor at heart, unable to understand why he had ever settled down in the first place.

But most importantly, I'm Rosie's prized possession.

Tonight, it was gonna be me and a group of ten. Ten ogling eyes taking in every inch of the body I'd used to my advantage since the moment I hit puberty and sprouted my prized D's. Whenever it's a group, the situation tends to be more rowdy, since they've all had their share of drinks. They fuel off each other. If one guy pinches my ass, the next slaps it. They howl when I bend over after they conveniently "drop" their napkin onto the floor. They all grab at me at once as I swat them off, promising each of them a chance.

It's not the cleanest business, but baby, it pays the bills and it's a job only a true "bad girl" could handle. I don't want the cut-and-dry nine-to-five job. I want the exoticness of a new man each night, the lust that I see burning in their eyes when I walk through the door. I've never _needed_ a man's approval, but damn straight I enjoy one. Every girl wants a guy to _want _them, but few are bold enough to admit it.

On the other hand, few are as bold as me.

As I stepped out of the taxi, I pulled my trench coat around me tighter, the winter air licking at my bare legs. I shivered as a smirk appeared across my face seeing how expensive the apartment building before me was.

Rule #1: rich guys tip well.

After an anxious elevator ride, I was in front of the white, newly-painted door of apartment 46F. I knocked on the door twice, listening to the noise inside of stumbling men and clinking bottles. The door opened to reveal a tall, dark haired man in his early twenties, and he was definitely a keeper.

"You must be Brooke," he said, leaning against the doorway. He breathed out the smell of whiskey, and I immediately sidled up to him.

"I'm whoever you want me to be for tonight."

"I like the sound of that," he agreed with a smirk, placing his hand on the small of my back as he led me into the apartment. The place was huge, basketball trophies and other awards adorning an entire wall. The other nine guys looked up at me from their respective places; some were drinking around the bar, and others were sitting in front of the TV watching whatever game was on that night. One of them breathed out a "wow" as he looked me up and down.

I pulled Nathan to the side. "I need the cash upfront," I ordered. He nodded, and I could see him become slightly excited at my dominance. He pulled out a few hundreds from his pocket before slipping them to me discreetly. I thanked him with a wink after I counted the correct amount.

"So boys," I stated as I began untying my coat. "Who's this party really for?"

A blonde guy, probably the same age as the dark haired one, raised his hand limply from the couch. His eyes were half closed as he answered with, "me."

"Excuse Lucas. He's too incoherent to realize how damn _hot_ you are," one of the others said as he came over and grabbed my ass lightly. I giggled, like I always did, before sliding the trench coat to the floor to reveal my black lingerie clad body. I watched as their mouths fell open.

"So, since this is _Lucas's_ party," I started as I made my way over toward the blond with striking blue eyes, "I think we should give him a little present, right boys?"

They all nodded their heads in agreement as their eyes followed my body. Lucas was sitting on the couch, a high ball in his hand. He turned his focus from the contents of the glass to me as I got closer. I grabbed the glass out of his hand, chugging the remaining contents, before putting it down on the glass coffee table behind me.

"I'm Brooke," I introduced myself as I straddled his lap. His hands instinctively found my hips as he pulled me closer, his eyes still half-closed. I watched as his eyes flashed from my face to my chest that was just within centimeters of his face. "And I hear you deserve one last night of fun before you sell your single-soul."

He nodded in agreement as he moved his hands from my hips to my thighs, rubbing them slowly, as I felt him get hard underneath me.

The rest of the group had shifted the arrangement of the room so the chairs were now in a circle around the coffee table.

"Remind him why we're all single so he can back out now," I heard one of the guys behind me say before mumbling something I couldn't hear to his friend.

"Turn on the music," I ordered, not taking my eyes off of Lucas.

Rule #2: let the man think that all you want is him. Making him think that he's in control, without letting him take full control.

I heard the click of a remote control and suddenly, the entire room was filled with music that was clearly preplanned for the night's activities. Then, the lights were dimmed by presumably the same remote control since no one left their seats. I began grinding my hips against Lucas's, feeling him tense up underneath me momentarily, obviously not used to being dominated by someone besides his fiancé. His hands wandered from my thighs back up to my waist, then to the small of my back, as he toyed with the elastic of my thong. I began to get up to make my way to the rest of the circle, but he pulled me back down, and when I looked back into his blue eyes, something new appeared: the drunken boy was gone and was now replaced by a primal bachelor who wanted to enjoy his last night as a single, horny guy.

I grinded on him for a few more minutes, the boys behind me howling, before getting up and making my way to the center of the circle. Before I left Lucas though, I leaned over and whispered an, "I'll be back," into his ear in my naturally seductive raspy voice.

I began dancing, pulling up one of the other men. He mumbled something drunkenly, saying his name was Jake, before I motioned to my back, lifting my hair so he could unclasp my bra. After a few attempts due to a combination of his nervousness and drunkenness, I shimmied, watching the translucent material slink to the floor, and made my way toward the guy who had opened the door for me.

He was sitting, his hands behind his head, his eyes watching me in satisfaction, as I stood between his legs with my hands on his thighs. I leaned over toward his ear. "So, who do you want me to be?" I rasped into his ear, flicking it slightly with my tongue.

"I think being Brooke is working out for you," he winked as he continued to watch me sway my hips in front of him.

After a half an hour entertaining each man personally, I was in desperate need of a drink. "I'll be back, boys," I purred as some protested when I stood up. "Don't worry." Still topless, I made my way to the marble bar and poured myself a double shot. I threw back my head as the burning liquid seared my throat slightly. When I went to put the glass back down, I felt someone creep up behind me, his hand going from my left hip across the small of my back, landing on my right. I wasn't sure who it was, but I had an idea, as his chin settled into the crook of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin, and I couldn't help but feel myself getting turned on by his touch and I had to suppress a moan.

"I can't believe I'm getting married in two days," he mumbled into my ear. His hands moved up my side, finding my breast and massaging it as I tilted my head backwards.

"Mhm…" I mumbled back.

"I've been with the same girl since high school," he admitted as his fingers rubbed over my nipple, feeling it become erect underneath his touch.

All the men I had been with had some sob story to tell. It was almost like they thought that by telling me _why_ they weren't satisfied with their current romantic or sexual set up, it somehow made cheating on a spouse or fiancé legal, like having a "good reason" somehow made being infidel completely fine. Lucas was no different. I knew where this was leading to.

"Lucas, dawg," one of the men, who had introduced himself as Skillz, called from behind us, interrupting us momentarily. Lucas moved his lips up to my ear. "Can you stay here after everyone's gone?" he asked, his tone almost pleading.

"It's gonna cost ya," I shrugged. This wasn't _just_ about pleasure. This was my business. He nodded in agreement and understanding, before slinking away from me toward the other guys. They were each nursing their own drinks, sitting around the table, no longer fazed by me, the half-naked girl, walking around the room.

I grabbed my drink from the bar before sliding into another guy, Tim's, lap. I ran my red lacquered nails down his leg as I felt him shiver underneath me.

"So boys, what's on the schedule for the rest of the night?"


	2. Desire

In order to understand what I do and how I act, you have to understand where I come from

In order to understand what I do and how I act, you have to understand where I come from. I grew up in a small, wealthy town in North Carolina, but moved to New York on my eighteenth birthday, dropping out of high school in true bad girl fashion. My parents were never around, but when they were, all they did was fight. So, I stopped believing in love around my seventh birthday, when my dad threw a vase against the wall as my mom set up my birthday candles.

I was the girl without stability my entire life; the girl who smoked cigarettes in the back of boys' cars and got drunk on the weekends all through high school; the girl who cut class and had weekly detentions; the girl who didn't give a shit about her homework unless it meant a study date with her latest boy-toy, and even then, the only thing I enjoyed studying was the male anatomy.

I guess some can say my promiscuous behavior that started at a young age can be attributed to the fact that I never had a loving family teaching me right from wrong. I've been told it's because I'm searching for someone to care, even if just for one night, since I lacked that kind of affection for… ever. Others think it's because I'm still striving for the approval I never got at home. Whatever reason it is, this is what I do, and I don't give a shit what you have to say about it.

So, when I ended up alone with Lucas after all his friends had left, I wasn't surprised that he still hadn't changed his mind about wanting me to be there, even if he was to be married in two days.

He closed the door for Nathan, who I had learned was his brother, before disappearing into his bedroom only to return with one of his sweatshirts.

"Here," he said, offering the gray hoodie to me. "It's one of my favorites."

I shook my head, my arms hanging at my side. "I'm okay. Plus, we both know it's gonna come off soon anyway," I shrugged, pouting slightly.

He smiled at this, but didn't retract it. "C'mon," he pushed. "You don't have to act like that with me."

"Act like _what_?" I said with an unintentionally venomous tone.

Rule #3: never question a call girl's work.

"This," he said, motioning to my body. "Like I'm paying you to have sex with me."

"But you are, aren't you?" I grabbed the sweatshirt from his hands. It had writing on the back. _Keith Scott Motors._ I held it for a moment, waiting for him to answer. He ran his hands through his blonde hair.

"I'm not sure yet," he breathed.

From what I could gather, he was the sensitive, broody type: someone who feels too much, who over-thinks their every action, who wants to talk about his feelings. So, instead of arguing, I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and my naked torso.

"Do you want a drink?" he offered, clearly unsure of himself. I could see the inner war that was raging inside of him through his eyes. _Do I sleep with the call girl and cheat on my fiancé or do I just let her leave and save my money?_

"No," I answered, sliding onto the couch. I curled my legs up and rested my elbow on the back, leaning onto my hand. "Neither do you… But what you _do_ want is to come here," I beckoned.

And he did. He floated over and sat on the opposite side of the couch, making sure we were far enough for him to resist me and to make his decision about the outcome of this night.

"You can come closer," I assured him. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to, but that's an extra twenty," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled lopsidedly, but didn't move closer. "Do you do it for the money?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "A little for the money, a lot for the sex."

"How? Don't you have a boyfriend? I'm sure he wouldn't approve of--…"

I shook my head, interrupting him. "I don't believe in love."

He cocked his head back and chuckled, thinking I was joking. When I remained stoic, he looked at me quizzically. "How can you not believe in love?"

"For the reason that you're here with me right now when you have a fiancé. For the same reason that every week, I'm with several different married or engaged men. True love is bullshit. If it was real, no one would need girls like me around."

"If there's no such thing as true love, what do you think all those songs, movies, books… what do you think they're all about? Do you think someone just made up those feelings?"

"Maybe. I think we're all in love with the _idea_ of love."

"Well take it from a writer… true love does exist."

"Then why are you getting married to someone you're willing to cheat on?" I prodded. Normally, I didn't get _this_ in-depth with my clients. Of course there were the few who wanted to have sex _and_ a meaningful conversation, so I obviously obliged knowing that it would be worth my time, since most of the whiney men paid well. But it seemed like Lucas lived in his own fantasy land, and I was going to make him see that it was all an illusion.

I'm extremely stubborn.

After narrowing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows in thought, he didn't answer, but instead, moved toward me slowly, finally resting his hand on my knee. He ran it up my thigh slowly, giving it a light squeeze when he reached the top. I put my hand on top of his as I let a small moan escape to usher him forward.

He brought his lips to my neck, kissing down until he reached my collar bone. He was definitely the romantic type.

"Her name is Peyton," he murmured against my smooth skin. I could feel the vibration of his deep, lustful voice on my neck, which only turned me on even more. But hearing his fiancé's name? Not so much… unless it was talk of a threesome. But I didn't take Lucas to be the kinky, threesome-loving type. I began blocking out the one-sided conversation, and began to enjoy myself.

"Mhm…"

"She's an artist," he mumbled between the kisses he planted across my shoulder.

"Mhm…"

"Blonde, curly hair…"

"Mhm…"

His lips moved to my mouth, his hands gripping my neck for dear life. "I swear I love her. I really do," he groaned into my mouth as my hand found the loop holes of his dark wash jeans, pulling his groin closer to mine. I wanted to shut him up, and rubbing his most sensitive spot was the way I was going to do it.

"Mhm…"

I threw my leg over him, straddling his waist, my fingers still locked in his belt loops. I pulled back, breaking the kiss, and looked him in the eye mischievously, winking, which elicited a smirk from him. "God, you're so sexy," he breathed, one of his hands tangled within my curls while the other roamed my body. I nodded confidently. This was nothing new to me.

_Sexy. Dangerous. Seductive. Erotic. Flirtatious. Arousing. Racy. Voluptuous_. These were words I had been familiar with for as long as I could remember; the words that had labeled me my entire life.

His lips found mine again and I felt his whole body press into mine, making the kiss more passionate. His tongue flicked over mine, massaging it, making me moan against his mouth. His hands traveled to the hem of the sweatshirt he had insisted I wear before lifting it over my head, breaking our lips momentarily. I sat on him, clad only in my thong, while he was fully clothed, a few buttons on his top undone at most.

I moved my lips from his to his ear, gripping his bicep tightly, my thumb tracing his toned muscles subconsciously. "So are we doing this?"


	3. Seduction

"So, are we doing this

"_So, are we doing this?"_

He nodded against my neck, nuzzling it at the same time. I couldn't help but be flattered by his gentleness. Even though he was kissing me with the primal roughness that came out in most men when they were with me, his hands were gentle as they ran over my breasts and dipped into the elastic of my thong. Most men considered me a piece of meat. I had no problem with this. When I first decided I wanted to be a call girl, I knew the terms that came with it. Most of them were rough with me, since most women felt "degraded" by that type of behavior. But with me, they could do anything. They _were_ paying.

I pushed him back slightly. "Money first," I demanded, holding out my hand.

He looked surprised for a moment, not realizing that I could go from horny-girl to business-woman in a matter of seconds. You see, I have this internal switch that only I control. I can be the lustful, young, turned on call-girl one minute, and completely stoic and unfazed by the most sexual arousals the next. It's a talent I've perfected over the years. This is my career, and it's not _just_ about sex.

Most of the time.

I watched as he fished into his pocket, pulling out his leather wallet. "How much?"

"Nine hundred an hour," I stated plainly. This was my rate. New York is an expensive city, and I'm a fan of luxury. His eyes met mine, once again, in shock. He pulled out a check and scribbled the information, 1,800, before passing it to me. I got up quickly, placed it into my coat that was now hanging on the back of his door, and moved so I was standing in front of him once again.

He stared up at me as I planned my approach. I met his blue, broody eyes, which were now narrowed in thought. "You're really beautiful, you know that?"

I've been called many things by my clients, as you may already know. But rarely am I called beautiful. The second they use the word _beautiful, _I know they don't want the seductive, sexy Brooke. They want the makeup-less, natural-Brooke.

I smiled at him, hoping that he would stop staring at me so seriously. "Do you wanna take a shower with me?" he asked suddenly, pulling me back onto his lap by my waist.

Rule #4: never shower with a client unless you are completely comfortable with them. Condoms are more likely to come off with the moisture, and many guys refuse to wear them at all.

I shook my head at him, the large window overlooking the city suddenly catching my eye. "Come here," I beckoned, pulling myself off his lap, grabbing his hands in mine. I walked backward until my back was arched against the cold glass. I felt chills run down my body at the contact, but ignored them as I reached for his jeans. I unbuttoned them slowly, making sure I didn't break my eyes from his. Once I peeled off the dark pants, I went for his boxers, stripping them off faster as he rested a hand on the glass over my right shoulder. His breath was ragged in my ear, and my movements became more urgent by the second. Once his boxers were discarded, I surveyed him, noticing how large he was. I pulled the waiting condom out of my thong (where I expertly keep it), and tore the wrapper open with my mouth. He watched me hungrily as I slipped it onto him with steady hands, the routine being extremely familiar to me.

As I looked at him, it occurred to me that this would be one of those nights where my job is less of a job and more of a pleasure.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he thrusted into me, pushing my naked bottom and back against the window. I moaned in ecstasy as his lips struggled to lock onto mine. I gripped the back of his head, pulling his mouth closer to me so I could tug on his bottom lip. He thrusted powerfully and I could feel my body getting weak, but I wanted to keep up with him. So when he dove into me once again, I forced my hips to meet his as my hands gripped at his hair. His hands on the other hand were planted firmly against the window, holding both of us steady. I could feel the hot skin on my stomach sticking to his chiseled body, the sweet sweat locking us together. My hands moved from his hair, to his neck, and then down to his waist as I pulled him further into me.

I met him thrust for thrust for a few more minutes before he locked his arms around my waist and carried me to the bedroom, him still inside of me, my legs still wrapped around him tightly.

When we reached the large room, he placed me onto the bed, and I ushered him forward by his necklace, locking our lips once again.

"Mmm, Brooke," he moaned into my ear. "I'm almost there."

He hovered on top of me, digging further into me with each thrust, and my fingers gripped his muscular back as his orgasm ripped through him, mine following mere moments after.

Then he planted a few kisses down my arm while still inside me. And that's when I knew that this was not a man who was used to having crazy, wild, cheating sex with anyone. He pulled out of me and rolled over to the empty space on the bed.

I watched his chest heave up and down before I sat up and headed to the bathroom.

As I walked out, he lifted himself up on his elbows and watched me, glancing at the time. "Hey, I paid you for another hour…" he started. I turned around; expecting him to ask for his money back since he had came within less time than expected. "How about we go get a drink or something?"

For a moment, I was relieved. Then, I was skeptical. First, the romantic after-sex kisses, now a drink?

I leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, my hand on my hip. "Why?"

He shrugged. "P-Peyton," he stuttered, the name clearly haunting him. "She's sleeping at a girlfriend's tonight, so I'm alone until tomorrow."

"And…?"

"And I might as well enjoy it, right?"

I wasn't sure who he was trying to convince: me, or himself.

"Come on," he pressed. "There's a nice hotel a block or two away. We can get drinks and then I'll take you home."

I sighed inwardly, trying to decide. It was already 3:30 in the morning, but I would get a free round of drinks plus, I wouldn't have to pay cab fare home.

But I couldn't go. This extra addition to the night went against all that I stood for when it came to my job. Sure, I had had gorgeous clients before. But I had never been in a relationship or anything remotely resembling one with any of them.

And Lucas was not going to change that.

"I'd rather you keep your money," I stated as I fished the check out of my coat.

He looked semi-hurt, but nothing too detrimental to his fragile male ego. "No, I couldn't take it back. Just keep it. Think of it as a tip."

I shrugged, not arguing about an extra 900 before replacing the check, and began pulling my jacket on.

"This was nice," he commented as I began heading for the door, coat tied securely.

"Mhm," I murmured. This guy was too much. Before I left, he planted a long, hard kiss on my swollen lips.

"I wanna see you again," he mumbled against my lips. I felt my skin tingle under his hot breath, and for a moment, the situation almost felt like the ending to a perfect date.

I nodded, knowing that I wouldn't be seeing him again, no matter how insistent he'd be about it to Rosie. "Call Rosie."

And then, I was gone.


End file.
